


a postscript

by Larrant



Series: count down [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant
Summary: There are hollows under his eyes and cold bones under his skin, and the gravity tugs on them, constant and slow.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eekanimp](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eekanimp).



> I've had these two chapters finished for at least several, several months. Well, I suppose they're finally gonna be posted :)
> 
> **EDIT: don't even read this without having read the other two first xD. spoilers galore**

 

   

* * *

  **0.**

* * *

 

There are hollows under his eyes and cold bones under his skin, and the gravity tugs on them, constant and slow. Insistent and firm. It pulls his bones down to the ground where they should bleach themselves white from the sun and bury themselves under the cool earth, bury themselves _deep_ for the worms to eat and the roots to grasp.

(his bones are sharp, his skin stretched over the jagged edges- and his edges will cut, when you touch them)

It aches. All of him aches. His bones creak when he stands, when he walks, and he wonders how they do not see. And then he does not wonder, because isn't that the point?

But this will pass. Everything passes. He knows, because much of it already has.

(he wonders now, how it could have ever been worse than it was now, but he knows that it was)

Day by day, the grief changes. He makes it change, forces it from bitter resentment into hatred, into a weapon he can use. His weakness will become his strength, even if it kills him to force it to become so.

"General, the reports you asked for."

He blinks, his breath loosens, glances at the Lieutenant who has interrupted his still thoughts, and nods once, just imperceptibly. "Leave them on my desk."

He does not watch the Lieutenant's salute, nor does he look at the stack of datapads on the desk. Instead there is another thought that occupies his mind- once a clamor that fought and clawed and had been systematically broken down until now it was simply a curiousity

_that is not curiousity at all why does he call it curiousity this burning aching covered with the cold with straight sleeves clipped words cold lines its existence will not be refused will not be refuted can't you feel it the pain the aching the pain the pain-_

he wonders, clinically, with a detached, detached curiousity- _why it had been so easy_.

Maybe it’s funny, maybe it’s ironic- it’s a question that has plagued him for months now, endlessly, a thought that would not leave. Hux has already long forgotten what she looked like, the colour of her eyes from that brief moment of contact, the sound of her voice, the colour of her eyes- there is nothing there, nothing at all and it had been so easy for him- so easy to turn his back, so easy to close off that path and so why--

He breathes. An intake of breath. An outtake of breath.

"Why did you succumb?" He asks, at an utter loss.

( _but that was not the question at all. why did you succumb. why did_ **_you_** _-_ )

He does not expect an answer, not from the air. He receives none.

There is an irony in this, an irony he will only see in years to come, but there is already something like a bitterness welling up in him that might be a laugh, except if he did laugh he would not be able to stop until the tears came with it.

This is the secret Hux has learned since childhood, the lesson he kept in himself alongside all the others: that emotion was weak, that emotion should be helpless. Weakness should be purged. And emotion is a choice, so long as you live and breathe and the rattle of your breath is hollow against your chest you do not have to give in.

Hux turns away from the dark paned window, returns to his desk and the stack of recordings that wait for him. He sits, draws out the first, begins.

Whatever else is forgotten already, calmly pushed from mind, pushed down until it is behind doors that lock and padlocks that seal: there are things more important than his own flimsy heart, and things that must be done, all of what matters more important than what petty memories he cannot erase.

One day, he will be over this.

A part of him questions if he will last until then.

 

 

 

( _he is on a planet where the mansions float up in the blue, where the tall skyscrapers reach to the ozone above. a planet where the countryside is lush, the mountains green and white and blue, flowers blooming in all the shades of colour visible to his eyes and more._

_his mother's birthplace. a place he has not visited, not since he was a child. he had never thought he would visit it like this. there is a pain in his chest that he has not yet learned to ignore. there is a betrayal in his heart that colours itself black like a cancer, spreading through his chest._

_he does not know what closure he will find, but perhaps there is closure to be found, here. perhaps it is only a false hope._

_there's a flash of black from the corner of his vision, and he has not yet practiced hard enough- without meaning to his gaze has already twisted to the side, instinctively searching. it's nothing, of course. black hair. black shirt. gone already into the crowd._

_it never is anything._

_had he really expected otherwise?_

_he wonders about this town, this world. so his mother had grown up here, that woman he never knew. there are cornershops and bookshops, someone is playing music in the square. it’s terribly homely, and maybe- in different circumstances, maybe this would have been where he grew up._

_he’s caught up in his musings, doesn’t notice when he walks into someone- or rather someone crashes into him. there’s a blink, a hand that reaches for a blaster that is not there before he recalls himself._

_'-ah, i'm so sorry, are you alright?'_

_his mouth opens._

_and time- stutters._

_it does not stop, not quite._

_there is a flicker of a vision, taking over his eyes, a vision coloured in black and silver and red and eyes that burn like fire._

_(there’s possibility, named in the same breath.)_

_what if._

_a whole universe, contained in a what if._

_the moment breaks._

_'it's fine,' the words leave his lips, too easy, too smooth. he doesn’t look at the girl who is wringing her hands in worry at him. 'it’s my fault, i wasn't looking where i was going.'_

_guilt, for a moment, pulsing heavy, before the loss claims it once more, numbs everything. he does not wait for her eyes to widen before he turns and is lost amongst the crowd._

_she must cry something after him, he thinks._

_whatever it is she calls, he does not hear it.)_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows kyluxcollective/eekanimp, link them over here? I owe them many fics, and I hope they will be able to read this.
> 
> Whoever you are, thank you for reading.


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